


Better than Stars

by BedlamBeggar



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal Extended Universe-Fandom
Genre: (Don't worry it's Nigel), (Nigel again), Ableist Language, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, But don't show up proper in the fic, Dubious Consent, Due to drug use, Explicit Language, Gabi and Darko are mentioned, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Nigel does shady shit, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-03-06 22:11:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18860137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BedlamBeggar/pseuds/BedlamBeggar
Summary: Run out of Romanian by his father-in-law, Nigel takes advantage of a job opportunity which takes him to New York. There he meets a strange man named Adam with a telescope and far too little respect for him. Obviously, the only thing Nigel could do was take him to a strip club.It was like listening to Gabi talk about music. Strings and famous cello makers, and bits of music that Bela made them practice over and over again until it was exactly to his liking. The difference in feeling between Bach and Brahms and a hundred other dead, white guys that Nigel hadn’t cared about before he heard her play their pieces. Nigel couldn’t understand a word of that either, couldn’t tell the difference between Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 and Brahms Cello Sonata No. 1--couldn’t even tell the difference between a ‘suite’ and a ‘sonata’--but he had loved to hear her talk. The world she created with her words. Nigel had never loved anything so intensely as Gabi loved music--had loved nothing so intensely except for Gabi herself.“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” he snapped, cutting the man off mid-ramble.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> StratumGermanitivum got me into Space Dogs. This was originally supposed to be nice little fic about Nigel taking Adam into a strip club, but then mutated into something bigger. You can blame her for this.

Nigel picked idly at the stitches lining his bicep.

His skin had been hastily stitched together by a back alley doctor--well veterinarian, but Nigel couldn’t imagine that dogs and people were too different-- that he paid with a pair of crumbled twenties and his last baggie of cocaine. For a coke head, it was a pretty good job. The stitching was even and not too tight or loose. Still, Nigel couldn’t help but pick at the black threads that pulled his flesh together, trying to pry his torn flesh apart with a dirty finger nail.

The doctor hadn’t bothered to ask him how he got shot, but then again, the coke might have been enough of an explanation for him.

In a way, it was the coke that got him shot.

This time, at least.

With on flick of the wrist, he lit a match. Cradling the tiny light against the wind, he brought it to the dangling cigarette in his mouth. Once lit, he let the match drop over the edge of the building’s roof. The tiny flame glowed for only a brief moment, before being lost in the darkness of the New York street below.

New York.

He’d never been to this city before. Hadn’t really intended to stray this far away from Bucharest--away from her--but the police had chased him out of Eastern Europe. Eastern Europe had turned to Central Europe, and before Nigel had known what had happened some faggy Dutchmen with a face he was dying to punch was paying him two million Euros to help him smuggle some cocaine in to the Netherlands.

It seemed like a worthwhile thing to do at the time. After all, he had some time to kill waiting for the old man to die, or for Darko to come up with a plan to get the tape. One was bound to happen sooner or later, and that left Nigel plenty of time to help get some Dutchmen high and dream up elaborate revenge fantasies.

Tonight felt like a flayed alive and rolled in salt, kind of night.

The access door to the roof opened. Nigel turned his head and watched the as the intruding man carefully closed the roof door--his back to Nigel. He was carrying something heavy in his arms, it’s awkward shape making him take his time. The man, turned and after adjusting his grip on the thing in his hands--a telescope by the look of it, the word in English escaping Nigel--started walking towards him.

He got halfway across the roof before noticing Nigel’s stare. The man did a double-take, obviously not expecting anyone else to be on the roof on a such a cold, windy night. Nigel raised an eyebrow. With deliberation, he flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette.

The man stood there for a moment, staring blankly at Nigel. He looked around before taking a hesitant step towards Nigel.

Nigel’s sneer widened.

It had little effect on the man, who walked up next to him and began to set up his telescope.

Nigel licked his lip, “The fuck are you doing.”

The man startled and looked at him. “I’m… I am…” He fumbled slightly and knocked over his telescope.

With a dispassionate eye, Nigel watched him try to right his telescope and  explain what was the fuck he was doing.

“I’m here to watch,” the man said, as though that explained anything.

It took a moment for Nigel to catch his drift. He looked behind him at the adjacent building. “Ahh, very nice.” he said, trying to pick out the window of interest.

The man seemed to visibly brighten.

Something else occurred to Nigel and he looked back at the man, giving him a once over. “You aren’t some kind of faggot are you?”

The man’s eyes widened in confusion, “What?” He blinked rapidly, and stared off somewhere to Nigel’s left. “I don’t understand.” He looked back at his telescope like it would help him. “Why would you ask that? What does watching the meteor shower have to do with--with being gay?”

Meteor shower?

Nigel’s eyes narrowed and he glanced up at the dark sky.

“Meteor shower?” he asked, “The things with the--” he gestured with his hands, “Big rocks falling from the sky.”

The man shook his head, and for a moment Nigel thought that he had mis-remembered what ‘meteor shower’ meant. Then the man opened his mouth. “No, the meteors don’t fall from the sky. You see, meteors are bits of rocks traveling through our solar system. Earth is passing through their pathway, and the gravitational pull of the Earth’s mass attracts them and pulls them down to the Earth.”

Nigel thought he was done, but the man continued, “The light is produced by the friction against the Earth’s atmosphere and--”

It was like listening to Gabi talk about music. Strings and famous cello makers, and bits of music that Bela made them practice over and over again until it was exactly to his liking. The difference in feeling between Bach and Brahms and a hundred other dead, white guys that Nigel hadn’t cared about before he heard her play their pieces. Nigel couldn’t understand a word of that either, couldn’t tell the difference between Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 and Brahms Cello Sonata No. 1--couldn’t even tell the difference between a ‘suite’ and a ‘sonata’--but he had loved to hear her talk. The world she created with her words. Nigel had never loved anything so intensely as Gabi loved music--had loved nothing so intensely except for Gabi herself.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” he snapped, cutting the man off mid-ramble.

The man’s mouth snapped shut, “Well, yes. I do?” he said with such sweet naivete that it made Nigel want to gag.

“Good. Do it,” Nigel commanded, before the man could start talking again.

That seemed to work. The man turned back to his telescope, adjusting it up to the inky sky.

Nigel smoked his cigarette. Lit another one when he was done. He looked up at the sky. It was no good for meteor showers here. Too much light pollution. Even though the sky was clear tonight, aside from a few sparse clouds darting the horizon, only a few lonely stars populated the sky. The rest blotted out by the intensity of humanity’s light. It almost made him nostalgic for home. His home, not the home he’d shared in Bucharest with Gabi--pollution there made it just as bad. His home when he was small. In the flat Danish countryside. It’d always made his skin itch, to see so much. So much sky, and stars, and land. He was always looking to the horizon, expecting to see monsters or aliens coming over the sky-line. Cities and their man-made mountains blocking the horizon made it easier. Out of sight, out of mind.

A meteor streaked overhead, glowing brightly before disappearing into the dark.

He exhaled, thick smoke curling about his head. In a fit of loneliness that seemed to come from not within him, he asked, “So are you a—“ he gestured with his hands trying to summon up the English word for astronomer from the depths of his brain, “A space scientist,” he finally settled upon, because the man next to him wasn’t helping him.

“No,” the man replied, not looking up from his telescope.

Nigel snorted, “So, you do this for fun?”

“Yes,” the man said, frustration evident in his voice.

“Huh,” Nigel said. He took a deep pull from his cigarette. “Huh.” He exhaled and watched the smoke curl and twist away into the night.

They said nothing for a long time, lost in not quite companionable silence. Nigel studied the man, as he stood hunched over his telescope. He was deceivingly tall, maybe over six foot, but seemed much shorter based upon how he carried himself. He held himself tightly, like he was a piece of blown glass ready to shatter at any moment if it wasn’t wrapped tightly.

He was probably Gabi’s age, Nigel mused, or about it. They were two very different souls. Gabi had an air of age beyond her years, and a deep, troubled world-weariness. This man looked like a child lost in an unfamiliar place.

It might have been an hour later—Nigel lost track of time, staring blankly ahead forgetting all else even his lit cigarette—when the man finally looked up and addressed him.

“Are you, um, are you gay?”

The suddenness of the question through Nigel for a loop. The man hadn’t even looked up from his telescope.

“Do I look fucking gay to you?” Nigel spat back.

The man finally looked up from his telescope. He surveyed Nigel for a very long time—too long, actually—looking intently at his shirt, his pants, his shoes, haircut, everything, like he was seriously considering the question.

“I’m not fucking gay, what are you looking for some kind of fag pal?”

“No,” the man said simply. He looked down, “I just thought you might be because you used the, um, the f-a-g word.” He looked back up, staring off to Nigel’s left, “You aren’t supposed to use it if you aren’t gay. It offends people.”

Nigel leaned forward, sneering, “Newsflash, fairy, I am offensive.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke in the man’s face.

Reflexively the man took a step back. With eyes pinched shut, he coughed and waved a hand through the cloud. “Yeah,” he finally choked out, “You are offensive.”

He had beat people for less than that. Old men, women, teens. You didn’t get to be known as the Mad Dane of Bucharest if you didn’t. Hell, he once broke a man’s arm in three places for insinuating that his dog shirt might—might—be tacky. Hadn’t stopped till the man was a blubbering wreck and white bone was poking through skin.

But the off-handed, slight, downright inoffensive way the man had said it, just made him want to laugh.

So, he did.

The man stared at him like he was crazy.

He wiped an eye and clapped the man on the shoulder—he crumpled slightly under Nigel’s touch, “I like you. C’mon, let me take you to a tiddy bar.”

Maybe he was a bit mad.

The man was definitely staring at him like he was, “A...tiddy bar?” he asked.

“Yeah!” Nigel said feeling more jovial than he had in months, “A tiddy bar.” He gestured to his chest, miming squeezing breasts with his hand, “Tiddies. Strippers. Booze.”

“Ohh,” the man said, recognition dawning on his face.

“Yes,” Nigel pulled a face, “You aren’t actually a homo are you?”

“No,” the man said.

“Good,” He grabbed the man’s shoulder, feeling him collapse like a castle of hand in his palm, “I’m Nigel, who the fuck are you?” he asked pulling the man along.

The man threw a panicked look back at his telescope, “I’m Adam, but—“

“No, buts. I’m buying you a drink,” Nigel replied, almost dragging him to the roof access door.

“But the—“

“No, buts,” Nigel repeated more forcefully, “Tits are better than stars.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief summary of this chapter.
> 
> https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/81NDoanXjOL._SL1500_.jpg

He took Adam to a dingy no-name Strip Club, that appealed to him only because he knew a guy who’d hang out there all night watching the girls dance and selling coke. 

The club was dark and damp smelling, decorated with a singular string of Christmas lights on the wall. A few flickered as Nigel watched them. But the girls on stage weren’t half-bad. A couple were on the thick side, and one looked like she was in the advanced stages of drug addiction, but they danced nicely to the tinny music coming from the speaker. 

He couldn’t help but grin when he saw Adam’s eyes widen at the sight of their thongs and high heels. 

Nigel deposited Adam in a seat by the stage. A couple of strippers flocked to the new arrival. They could wait. 

“Be right back,” he said with a wink. 

His friend was at the club, like he was expecting. They met in the men’s room, and Nigel exchanged a pair of bills for a small bag of coke. His friend smoothed them out of the bathroom sink, before shoving them in his pocket and leaving the bathroom without further comment. 

Deciding that he was paying for his new friend to get drunk and not high, Nigel rolled up another twenty in the bathroom stall. After spending a stint in a Romanian prison, he wasn’t worried about American prison. Hell, maybe they’d extradite him to Denmark, and he’d get to wait till the old man croaked with good ol’ Danish TV. 

He snorted a line off a the back of a yellowed toilet, that probably hadn’t been cleaned since it was installed. He’d done coke off filthier things before. When he’d finished the line, he sat up on the seat, staring at the stall wall. He pinched his nose, and waited for the coke to hit him. He didn’t have to wait long. 

Nigel was back out at the bar, buying a pair of beers, before he knew what hit him. He frowned at the bottles. 

“American,” he asked, feeling tired despite the hit of cocaine.

The bar tender—a young women wearing a bikini that showed off several stretch marks on her stomach—frowned back and pushed them towards him. “Drink ‘em or buy something else,” she said gruffly. 

Nigel sighed dramatically, “Fine, I’ll drink your piss water.” He picked them up with one hand, and returned to Adam.

The man was sitting exactly where Nigel left him. He was looking up in sheer wonder at a black girl who was dancing in front of him, both hands pressed to either of his ears—to drown out the music, probably. Nigel guessed he wasn’t gay after all.

“Here,” Nigel said holding out a dollar to Adam. 

Adam looked blankly at it. 

Sighing dramatically again, Nigel grabbed Adam’s hand and thrust the bill into it. “Give it to her,” he said jerking his head to the stripper. 

His new friend looked up at the dancing girl, wide-eyed and scared.

The girl smiled lecherously down at him. She dropped to her knees before her, heavy tits bouncing, and ran her hands through her thick curly hair. 

Adam looked at her for another moment, before biting his lip. He leaned forward, extending the bill to the girl. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m very sexually excited.” 

Nigel laughed uproariously.

The stripper took it in stride, accepting the bill and tucking it into her glittery thong. “Any time sweetie,” She rocked back to her heels, spreading her thighs for Adam. She ran her palms over the curves of her breasts, biting her lip in play-acted pleasure as she rubbed her nipples. Nigel couldn’t help but lick his lips. “The name’s Stella, by the way.” 

Blushing, Adam sputtered out his own name.

With his free hand, Nigel elbowed Adam, who jerked dramatically, “Look at that. Both our favorite things: tits and stars.” 

Stella laughed at him. She stood and turned to shake her ass at them. 

Nigel took a seat next to Adam, who’s eyes were locked on Stella’s bopping ass.

“Here.” Nigel grabbed Adam’s hand and pushed a beer into it. He held out his own bottle for Adam to clink against. 

Instead of doing that, Adam just stared down at the beer in his hands. “I don’t like beer,” he said, simply. 

With a snort, Nigel said, “It’s barely beer.” He took a deep pull from his bottle and grimace, “More like piss-flavored water.”

Still looking incredulous, Adam asked, “Why would I want to drink that either?” 

Nigel took a moment to contemplate that, as he watched Stella’s dancing. “Probably because they don’t sell real beer.”

“Real beer?”

“Not American.”

Adam looked down at the beer bottle in his hand, and then his face brightened, “Actually, there’s no difference between the alcohol content of American and European beer. The difference which confuses some people is that American brewers measure alcohol by volume and not weight—“

“Adam,” Nigel looked over at him, “Let me be a fucking beer snob in peace.” He gulped down some more beer, “Just drink your beer.”

“Ok,” Adam looked down. He grimaced before taking a tiny sip. He gagged immediately. 

Nigel snorted mid-drink, beer almost coming out of his nose. He gagged himself, choking the rest of his beer down by pounding on his chest.

Wiping his mouth, Adam yelled, “That’s awful!”

Still laughing at his new friend, Nigel replied, “Told you so.” 

Still grimacing, Adam shook his head and held the bottle out to Nigel. Nigel looked down at his own bottle. He shrugged and killed it before accepting Adam’s. 

He about to ask what Adam’s poison was, but at the last second changed his mind, “Do you actually have a poison, or…?” He trailed off.

“Poison?” Adam parroted. 

Nigel might have doubted his command of American vernacular, but the coke was making that hard. “Yeah, what do you drink.” 

Adam seemed to consider that for a moment. “I like coke,” he said, finally.

“Gottcha,” Nigel downed half of Adam’s beer, “Coke and rum, coming up.” 

“Just a coke!” Adam called after him, but Nigel was already running off to the bar.

And pretending not to here Adam’s cries. 

He finished off his beer at the bar and ordered two rum and cokes. After a moment, he also ordered himself a shot and knocked it back at the bar. He was already mixing beer and liquor so why not. 

He returned triumphantly with his prizes to Adam. Stella had danced off to greener passages, when she realized that Adam wasn’t producing anymore bills. Nigel set the two glasses down on the stage, and waved her back with another bill. She happily returned.

“You have to keep giving them dollars, if you want them to stay,” he said, chastising his friend. 

As Nigel was tucking the bill into her thong, Adam pipped up again.

He’d picked up his glass and was inspecting it thoroughly in his hands as if he could tell if there was rum in it by visual inspection alone. “Do you use an algorithm?” he asked, apparently to no one.

“What'd you say, sweetie?” Stella asked. 

Nigel mused that was a nice way of saying “What in the fuck are you talking about?”

“An algorithm,” Adam said, still turning the glass in his hands, “A series of mathematical formulas to determine the optimal amount of money you need to receive from ah--a, ah--man in order to justify staying with him rather than moving on to a different man.”

That seemed to have shocked Stella. Enough, at least, that she stopped her dancing momentarily. “No, I, ah,” she looked Nigel, and then back at Adam, “You kinda get a feel for it after a while.” She looked back at Nigel, obviously not prepared to deal with this line of questioning. 

Nigel just took a big swig from his glass. 

“Oh,” Adam said, undeterred. “That’s not very efficient. I could probably help you maximize your profits, I would just need to collect some more data on the average trends of tipping at your establishment and--”

Very suddenly, Stella said, “I have to go, my manager’s calling me.” She scampered off before either of them could respond. 

Sadly, Adam watched her go. 

Nigel took a sip from his glass. “Not your best pick up line.”

“Huh?” Adam looked up at him, visibly confused. 

With a sigh, Nigel said, “With Star-girl over there.” He jerked his head towards Stella’s retreating form. “Here’s a tip from an old pro at this. Strippers don’t like it when you come on too strong. Freaks ‘em out. My advice--” he tipped his glass, “Look. Don’t bother trying to touch.”

Recognition dawned on Adam’s face. He stood up, knocking over his chair, “I didn’t--I was--I just wanted to be nice--not do anything sexual with her! Especially, without her permission!” He looked over trying to find Stella. The look on his face was so blatantly distressed, so horrified that he’d done something wrong, so desperate to fix whatever it was he did wrong, that it almost made Nigel feel bad. 

Almost.

So, he just laughed at Adam instead. 

Adam looked at him. “Wh-what is it?” 

“You!” Nigel choked out. He snorted and put his face in the crook of his free arm. “What are you retarded or something?”

“No!” Adam huffed, “The last time it was tested, I had an IQ of 145, which is two standard deviations above the norm, and that was when I was ten! So, it stands to reason my IQ would only increase not decrease!” 

That only made Nigel laugh harder, “Then why are you so--” He gestured about, sloshing rum and coke on himself. 

Adam waited a long beat to respond, “I have Asperger’s Syndrome,” he replied, still obviously confused, “Not an intellectual disability.”

“What?” Nigel snorted again, still unable to control his laughter. 

“Asperger’s syndrome,” Adam said, clearly gearing up for another rant. “It’s on the Autism spectrum, it means that I have difficulty with social interaction and--”

Nigel plopped down in his seat, “You gonna die?” he asked, suddenly not laughing. 

That only confused Adam again, “No? Why would be dying?” 

“Cuz of your--” Nigel gestured again, and took a big gulp of his drink, “Abserger’s.”

“Asperger's Syndrome.” Adam corrected. “It’s not a fatal disease. I just--”

“Oh,” NIgel said, cutting him off, still looking straight forward,“I figured, if you were dying or something I’d have to get us some prostitutes or something.” 

There was a lapse in conversation. Adam, obviously still confused, picked up his chair and sat down in it. “I don’t want to have sexual relations with a prostitute,” he said, frustration evident. 

“Good,” Nigel said, sipping his drink and looking straight ahead. “I only buy prostitutes for dying people.” 

Adam looked down. “Oh. Ok.” 

Nigel downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter (I'm sorry) but this felt like the best way to break up what I've already written. I hope you forgive me. for a lot of those sexier tags have finally become relevant. ;)
> 
> Also known as: Nigel continues to fall down the rabbit hole of "Unsanitary things to do in a strip club's bathroom". It is a deep hole, and he can see no bottom.

Over the course of the night, Nigel took another two trips to the bathroom, and God knows how many trips to the bar. Adam refused to drink the rest of his rum and coke, after tasting the paint thinner rum in it. So, Nigel finished it, and even kindly bought him an actual coke.

He was a few lines deep, at that point, and feeling very generous.

It was the cocaine.

He even gave a twenty to Stella. She seemed grateful enough. Enough to tell the bouncer not to kick them out.

He might have given the bouncer a twenty, too.

Things were hazy. Even when they were happening.

At some point, they went back to watching strippers dance. Nigel watched the tassel on a girl’s thong bounce up and down, enraptured. What seemed like a moment later, Adam stood up.

“I’m going to--” he stopped, and then scampered off.

Nigel tore his eyes away from the bouncing tassel. He watched his friend disappear off into the bathroom. “Oh,” he said, seeing the door swing open and shut.

He stood up, meaning to chase after him. Nigel only got two steps away, before stopping. He grabbed his drink, swallowing the last of the liquor in it, and then resumed his chase.

The bathroom was empty except for Adam. Or, at least, he thought it was Adam. It was probably Adam. Adam--or probably Adam-had holed up in the middle stall. The thought of knocking on Probably Adam’s stall crossed his mind, but he dismissed it just as easily, thinking Adam would just tell him to go away.

Instead, he dropped to his knees, and started crawling underneath the stall door.

Adam--Definitely Adam--was seated on the toilet. He shrieked with horror, as he saw Nigel’s head appear from under the door.

“What are you doing?!” He screeched jumping up. His pants dropped down to the ground in his mad rush to cover his crotch with his hands.

Nigel sat up on his knees. “Oh.” He hadn’t realized it until that very second, but he had assumed that Adam was just taking a shit. It seemed that Adam was doing something quite different.

His dick--standing erect--was freed from his tighty-whities. That much Nigel could tell, even with Adam’s best efforts to preserve his modesty. “Oh, no, a penis,” Nigel said sadly, but it may have come out in Danish.

Adam’s eyes were wide. Nigel could see the whites all around his irises. He removed one hand from his crotch, and gestured at Nigel, apparently beyond words.

Nigel shrugged back.

Adam looked anywhere but at him. His eyes furtively darted around the tiny stall, like he expected someone to come and help him.

Scooting forward on his knees, Nigel put a hand on Adam’s hip, marveling for a second at how big it seemed in comparison to the man’s slim figure. “Can I touch it?” he asked, this time probably in English.

“Touch what?” Adam said, in desperation.

He scooted a little forward again. “Your, ah, you know.” The English was escaping him. He gestured with his head towards Adam’s dick.

Adam’s head shot down to his crotch. He stared at it for a moment, before looking up at Nigel, “Why?”

Nigel could almost feel the multiple question marks at the end of the sentence. “I fucking want to,” he said. He put another hand Adam’s hip. “You fucking want to?”

There were lots of lines he’d crossed in his life. Little lines. Big lines. Lines that he swore he’d never cross, but did anyway. Lines he crossed and then gleefully did a little gig upon. He even pissed on a line once, but that was a literal police line and not a metaphorical line.

Still this was a line, he hadn’t crossed yet. A weird, thin that he psychically knew he wouldn’t be able to uncross. That would be the end of it. So he waited, as a myriad of emotions crossed Adam’s face. Some darted across, some stayed for a long moment, before disappearing. Some left quickly, only to come back again. After seeing what what had to be the entirety of the human emotional range cross Adam’s face, he slowly and deliberately gave Nigel a nod.

With little force, Nigel shoved Adam back down on the toilet seat. Adam crumpled as easily as before, like his body was a house of cards. He stared down at Nigel.

Slowly but surely, Adam peeled his hand off his penis. Nigel stared at it; the dull realization that his face had probably never been this close to a dick before dawning on him. At least, not intentionally. He’d probably been unintentionally closer to dicks before. Darko’s parties tended to get wild, and a little weird towards the end.

Nigel glanced over at his hands still splayed across Adam’s hips. They were nice hips. He could feel the bone jutting out against his palm. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, and he felt himself begin to rub small circles against it with the pads of his thumbs.

There was no point in delaying it any longer. Nigel steeled himself, tried to think about what it was like the last time he’d gotten a blowjob from a girl, and leaned forward—

“Wait!”

Nigel looked up. A distressed look had darkened Adam’s face, and for a horrible moment Nigel wondered if he’d completely misread the situation.

Then Adam began talking again, “Is this ok? You said you weren’t gay…”

Oh. Nigel sneered, “You don’t have to be gay to suck another guy’s dick.”

Adam nodded sagely, “You’re right.”

“So we’re doing this?” Nigel asked, leaning closer.

Adam nodded again.

“We’re doing this, for real,” Nigel said, almost more for his own benefit than Adam’s. “This is real life.” He leaned forward and took the tip of Adam’s dick into his mouth.

Well, his life anyway.

At first, it just sat there, twitching slightly in his mouth—like the damn thing had a mind of its own and was shivering in anticipation of what was going to come next—before occurred to Nigel that Adam wasn’t the type of guy who’d just face-fuck him into oblivion.

Darko was that type of guy, he heard.

Vague, cocaine powdered memories surfaced in his mind. Wild parties, half ended. Women talking in hushed Romanian. He could almost see himself keeled out on a table, half asleep from mixing booze and hard drugs, and watching with dull interest as Darko shoved his cock down a stripper’s throat. She’d gag and pant, and suck all the harder for it, eager and lusting in equal portions for for the man and for the power that would come from fucking the man.

It must be easier that way.

Gently, he flicked his tongue over Adam’s slit. Above him, the man let out a sharp exhale of breath. Nigel exhaled, and rolled his tongue around the head of Adam’s dick. The man sighed again, but didn’t relax. If anything, he seemed to only get tenser, as Nigel moved further down his dick, slowly and experimentally taking more of it into his mouth. Nigel felt his eyes flick up to Adam’s face. Watched as it contorted--his eyes closed and his mouth a thin, hard line. Nigel raised his head, ready to leave and go take a nap somewhere in the bathroom, but Adam breathed out again.

“Don’t stop,” he breathed, barely above a whisper. Adam’s hands flexed wildly, like he was looking for something to grab ahold of, but was coming up dry“Please,” he added, and Nigel swore he was saying it to be polite and not sexy.

Nigel wondered what it would be like if he ran his hands through hair. Grabbing and pulling at his fine, blond locks. Knotting themselves, smoothing out tangles. Petting and pulling and just a tad bit painful.

“Please,” Adam breathed again, reminding him that he as supposed to be doing something.

He bent over and thrust as much of Adam’s cock into his mouth as he could, causing himself to gag in the process. Still he managed to keep it in his mouth, spit rolling off his lips and down his chin in the process.

“A-are you, ok?” Adam started to ask, but was interrupted by Nigel sucking hard on his cock. His breath came out in a tiny hitch.

Idly, as he sucked and worked his tongue over his Adam’s cock, Nigel wondered if this was Adam’s first time getting his dick sucked. Probably, for how his hips trembled beneath Nigel’s palms. Like he was afraid of bucking them and hurting Nigel. He seemed so tightly wound, even in the throes of pleasure--like if for one moment he let go, all the pieces would crumble and he would never be able to pick them up again.

Or maybe, Nigel was just terrible at giving head.

It might be the latter. He had no idea what to do with his hands, so he just kept them pressed against Adam’s slim hips, and rushedly bobbed his mouth up and down Adam’s cock, wincing intermittently at the sharp taste of precum in his mouth.

Adam’s breath sped up. Nigel could hear it come in hitched huffs and puffs. On either side of Nigel, he could feel Adam’s thighs quiver. He’d at least found something to do with his hands, and had pressed one to the side of the stall and the other just above the toilet roll.

“I’m--” And that was all the warning Nigel got. He gagged and pulled way as cum shot into the back of his throat. He stood, staring down at Adam as he twitched and jerked.

Leaning over, Nigel spat out the cum in his mouth onto the ground.

Adam looked up at him blearily, with one eye open. “That is disgusting,” he said, sounding thoroughly worn out.

Nigel shrugged and wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand. He turned and unlatched the bathroom door.

Behind him, Adam squeaked again. Nigel could heard him scrambling to cover himself up. “Wait!” he called out.

Still walking out, Nigel cocked his head back at Adam.

Just as he suspected, Adam as standing, pants half pulled up over his dick and hastily cleaning off excess cum from his stomach with toilet paper. Nigel watched him, for a moment, before realizing that Adam as talking again.

“What… what about you.”

Shunned, Nigel looked down at his crotch, remembering it for the first time. He palmed a half-erection through his pants. Shrugging again, he continued walking out of the bathroom.

“Wait!”

Time for another drink. Nigel said, but he might have just thought it to himself.


End file.
